


Now That We're Alone

by unfolded73



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Camelot, Episode: s05e04 The Broken Kingdom, F/M, Outdoor Sex, Season/Series 05, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 14:18:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11533980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfolded73/pseuds/unfolded73
Summary: Emma and Killian have a moment alone in the Middlemist field





	Now That We're Alone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caprelloidea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caprelloidea/gifts).



“Now that we’re alone…” she murmurs, her face tilting up to him, the sunlight catching her hair and making it glow. He raises an eyebrow because her meaning seems clear, but he doesn’t want to presume. That is, until he feels a slight pull from her fingers on the lapel of his coat, and he lets himself be pulled, capturing her mouth in a sweet kiss. 

Her lips are warm and taste of the watered wine that graces the tables of Camelot for every meal. She always feels a little too warm these days, since the darkness took her. Emma was usually chilly compared to him, her hands on his bare hips making him flinch and laugh into her mouth, her feet pressed against legs when they attempted to share his narrow bunk on the _Jolly_ causing him to proclaim that no living human woman could possibly have such cold extremities. 

He’d give anything to feel her chilled fingers and toes now. 

Still, she seems almost at peace for the first time since they’ve found her here in this strange land, this kingdom that fills him with mistrust. Killian pushes aside his worries and kisses her back, angling his head and opening his mouth wider to sweep inside with his tongue, and Emma responds as her arms wrap around him, pulling him closer still. 

“I want you,” she mutters, the words tripping across his cheek as she moves to kiss his jaw. “Can we?”

He raises an eyebrow again, surprised despite the fact that she’s never been shy with him about sex. But they’ve shared no physical intimacy beyond embraces and kisses since she became the Dark One, and he realizes that he’d started to think of her as a sort of invalid, her body shot through with an infection that they don’t yet know how to cure. Of course he still desires her, but he’s forced any prurient thoughts out of his mind, focusing on protecting her and keeping her safe, even from her own family if necessary.

Emma presses her body against his and he feels an answering tug in his groin, desire that’s been under the pressure of his constant worry suddenly released to sublimate in the air over this field of flowers. It bubbles up in him, making him equal parts giddy and desperate, his mouth pressing harder against her own, teeth behind lips making the kiss hard and forceful.

“Anything you want, my love,” he says, glancing down at the meadow they’re standing in, wondering if his coat will provide an adequate barrier between them and the ground, especially given the white gown and cloak she wears. 

As if she can read his mind, Emma raises her hand. “I can conjure a blanket—”

“Don’t.” Killian frowns, his heartbeat accelerating with anxiety now instead of lust. “Darling, you mustn't use your magic needlessly. The darkness—”

“I can handle the darkness,” she says with a smile, and he fears what that might mean. 

He whips his coat off and spreads it out of the grass. “See? I’ll protect you from any thorns that would dare to pierce your flawless skin.”

She rolls her eyes and huffs. “You’re so cheesy. Fine, no magic.” She kneels on his coat and draws him down with her. “That means you’re gonna have to get undressed all on your own, buddy.”

He feels the high grass give under his knees as he strokes the gossamer strands of her hair and tries to get his mind back on track. “A minor inconvenience.”

Emma drops the single flower she was holding, the one he picked for her, and unclasps her cloak, letting it fall to the ground. Her finely embroidered gown is gathered with two ornate clasps below her breasts, and his eyes can’t help but gravitate there, to the way the garment accentuates her curves. His hand looks rough and mean against the delicate threadwork as he drags his fingers down to the swell of her breast.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, his eyes flicking up her her face, finding her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She can’t really be the Dark One, he thinks irrationally, even though he’s seen her name on the dagger. How can she be? She’s an impertinent angel, his Emma, not some immortal dark power. She’s the woman who likes unbearably sweet foods and who giggles uncontrollably when his lips find that one tiny spot just above where her thigh meets her pelvis. She’s the woman who descended the stairs toward him at the ball a few nights ago in a beautiful white gown, her hair festooned with flowers, and made him begin to seriously consider the idea of marrying her. These thoughts are his alone for now; it isn’t time to suggest such a thing, not with Emma’s fate as precarious as it is. But he has the beginnings of a plan, if they can all get back to Storybrooke in one piece, if Emma continues to be as open with her love for him as she’s now starting to be. For the first time, he’s entertaining the fantasy that she could become his wife someday.

Emma reaches for the buttons on his red vest, impatience showing on her face as she struggles to get the metal fastenings through the stiff leather. “How are you not boiling hot in this?” she asks. 

He was, his sweat-damp shirt left stuck to his back as she eases the vest down and off. Emma shuffles closer, kissing him again. She makes her desire plain in the needy way her teeth scrape his lips, little moans escaping her as her mouth moves against his. Her hands slip around his waist, pulling his hips flush with hers. He pushes and she pulls and before he knows it he’s hovering over her. They sink down on his long leather coat, surrounded and somewhat shielded by the high grass and pink flowers on every side. He wonders how many flowers they are crushing underneath them in their desperation to be joined with each other. 

His necklace hangs down, the tiny dagger brushing over the pale, delicate skin of Emma’s throat. The symbolism isn’t lost on him.

“I love you,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss her again. He braces himself on his hook and unfastens the clasps of Emma’s dress, exposing the thin shift she wears underneath. She materialized in this realm without her modern clothes, and he can easily make out the outline of her naked breast under her shift, no bra to impede his view. He brushes his thumb over her nipple slowly, back and forth, a small movement that makes her gasp and arch up, seeking more of his touch.

He wants to go slow, because he doesn’t know when the next opportunity to be together like this will be (or if there will be another at all), but her moans go straight to his cock and make him desperate to take her. He moves his hand down, rucking her dress up her legs as her thighs spread readily for him. He finds her bare underneath, slick with desire, and he plunges two fingers inside her before he can stop himself. Emma cries out, hips bearing down to draw him deeper.

Killian continues to stroke her inside and out, intending to bring her to climax quickly with his nimble fingers, but she stops him, flipping their positions with a supernatural strength that she shouldn’t possess. 

Her hands work to efficiently unlace his trousers, and she inches them down enough to free his erection. She glances down his legs, as if debating the possibility of taking his boots off so that she can remove his pants entirely. 

“Your feet are huge,” she says out of nowhere, apparently dismissing the idea of getting him any more naked as she straddles his thighs, her fist closing around his cock.

She strokes him, making his eyes slam shut as he groans, and he wonders why she’s chosen this moment to remark on the size of his feet. “So you’ve said before.”

“I know, it’s just… they’re really long. No one else ever mentioned it?”

He could tell her about how the sailors in Silver’s employ used to tease him for it, tripping him and sending him spilling to the hard deck of the ship, but that would probably be a mood-killer for both of them. “Milah used to say that if I got tired of piracy I could become a court jester.”

Emma laughs at that, a throaty chuckle, and maintains the rhythm of her hand over his sensitive flesh. He’s close to coming already; it’s been a long time since they’ve done this, a long time since he’s even taken himself in hand, too worried about Emma and her perpetually sleepless nights to take even a few minutes to pleasure himself. He reaches down and lifts her hand away.

“I don’t want to lose myself in your hand like a callow youth,” he explains.

“In my experience, you’ve never done any of this like a callow youth.” She crawls forward, her shift dress pooling around them, and he feels the wet press of her sex against his erection. It’s all he can do not to grip her hips and thrust inside, filling her completely in one quick motion. Instead he moves in shallow strokes, dragging his cock against her.

“I hide the way you unman me well, then,” he murmurs, gripping her thighs as they grind against each other. He wishes for a moment to see her completely naked on top of him, wishes for the sight of her long, blonde hair parting to reveal her bare breasts, longs for the sight of all of her wonderful skin. At the same time there is something about the contrast that arouses him: his Emma an ethereal goddess in white, sunlight haloing her head and almost blinding him, while hidden underneath her innocent shift is her forbidden center, dripping wet with unabashed desire.

“What do you mean, unman you? I don’t unman you.” She leans forward and nuzzles against his chest above the open throat of his shirt. 

“I mean you make me weak, darling.” He sits up, his abdominal muscles flexing as he rises, arms going around her to hold her close. “Every time you share your body with me, I very nearly weep at how miraculous you are.” He kisses her neck gently, drawing his tongue along her skin as Emma continues to writhe in his lap.

She just snorts, her face scrunching up. “You do not.”

Their moods are mismatched, every ardent declaration on his part met with irreverence on hers, but he can’t help the words from spilling out anyway. “You can’t imagine the way my heart races with every touch we share, my love. One of these days I may die in your body’s embrace, but it will be a wonderful way to go.”

She groans, “Oh, shut up.” Emma rocks her pelvis, each slick stroke making their mingled breaths come faster. “I mean, I love you, but shut up.”

He chuckles, his laugh devolving into a moan as Emma adjusts the angle of her hips and the tip of his cock slips inside her. “Gods, more,” he pants. “Let me in, love, please.” She sinks down then, consuming him in the hot slide of her flesh.

Killian plants his hand and hook on the ground, giving himself the leverage to thrust up into her body as Emma continues to move her hips in a slow roll against him. They settle into an easy rhythm, no mismatch in this, just perfection — building pleasure threatening to rip him into tiny pieces and remake him again. He’s nothing but hers, a supplicant to her dark power. Perhaps this is some terribly long game the Dark One has been playing with him, taking from him everything he held dear, leaving him a hollow, revenge-fueled villain, and finally consuming him here in this meadow, body and soul. Taking him to the brink of paradise before exacting its final, terrible violence against him.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Killian banishes those morbid thoughts. He inhales, breathing in her scent, musk and sweat and some floral soap, proving to him that she’s just his Swan, not this dark creature he’s conjured. Just Emma, his love.

Focusing back on the motion of their bodies together, he moves to lift the gathers of her dress that are crumpled between them. “Do you need me to touch you?”

Emma shakes her head quickly, not breaking her rhythm. “No Killian, fuck, I’m gonna come,” she gasps out in a rush, and then her head snaps back, voice scraping out of her throat in relief as she does. He continues to thrust up with his hips, chasing her, and in spite of the chaos inside his mind, his body takes what it needs. His orgasm bursts outward — bright, pulsing pleasure that makes him shout toward the sky. He returns to himself slowly, gradually aware of the sweat on his brow, the slowing down of his galloping heart, the contemplative smile on Emma’s face.

“We should do this outside more often,” she says, looking around them at the empty field, pink flowers bobbing in the breeze in every direction. 

“Might not be so pleasant in the middle of winter in Storybrooke,” he comments as Emma awkwardly disentangles herself from him. He sees her grimace as she stands up. “You all right, love?”

She blushes faintly. “Yeah, just, you know.” She gestures vaguely down at herself. “Sex is messy.”

He stands and pulls his trousers up, then picks up his coat to fumble in one of the pockets. “Here we are.” He extracts a handkerchief and holds it out for her.

Emma looks at it and wrinkles her nose. “So you’re just gonna walk around with a jizz-filled handkerchief in your pocket?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Eww.” She flicks her wrist, and he senses a crackle of magic in the air. “Never mind, I took care of it, and don’t scold me for using magic.” She pulls her dress back over her shift, fastening the clasps, and then retrieves her cloak from the ground, shaking it out to dislodge any errant flower petals. “These clothes, I swear to God. What I wouldn’t give for a pair of jeans. Or yoga pants. Right now I could raze Camelot to the ground for some yoga pants.”

He knows she’s joking, but he can’t find it in himself to smile along. He hands her his coat so that he can lace his pants back up, his hook and hand working together easily at a task it took him years to master after the loss of his hand. He puts his vest on, and once he has it buttoned, Emma passes over his coat.

“Hey,” she says, leaning up and kissing him on the cheek. “Thanks.”

“You don’t have to thank me for making love to you, darling.” He turns the coat in his hand and hook, noticing a crushed flower stuck to the back of it. He brushes at it, and the bruised petals flutter to the ground at his feet.

“Not just that, I mean thanks for all of this. The horseback ride, and… for not telling everyone about the voice in my head. Everything.”

“I would do anything for you, Emma, you must know that. Just tell me what you need, and if it’s within my power, it’s yours.”

She gives him a strange half-smile that isn’t quite a smile, and then her shoulders visibly shudder.

“What?” he asks her. “Are you cold?”

“No. I don’t know. Have you ever heard that saying, that someone walked over your grave? Do you say that in the Enchanted Forest?”

“Aye.” He pulls his coat on and holds an elbow out for Emma to take so that he can escort her back to the horse, as if they are simply out on an innocent walk. He wants to remember this afternoon for what it was on the surface, a romantic outing with his lover, a pleasurable tryst in an idyllic setting. But as the sun dips behind a cloud, he looks up at the sky and has to suppress a shudder of his own. There is a sense of foreboding in the air.

“I had a teacher that used to say a goose walked over your grave,” Emma says, oblivious to the dark turn of his mood, her hand sliding down to his. She threads their fingers together, swinging their hands. “I mean, why a goose?”

“Perhaps a swan would be more fitting in this case?” he says.

“A swan walked over my grave?” She shivers again. “Let’s stop talking about graves; I’m sorry I brought it up.” He sees a shadow return to her eyes, a flicker of darkness behind the green. As he helps her up onto the horse behind him, he wishes they could just ride and ride until they come to the coast, steal a ship and sail far away from the darkness that haunts her.

Emma’s arms wrap tight around his torso and he feels her press her head against his back. Clicking his tongue at the horse, they begin to canter back in the direction they came. 

Turning, Killian takes one last look at the bobbing heads of pink flowers, their stems rustling in the breeze. He imagines suddenly that they are bowing their heads in sympathy, at the folly of people who think they can defeat darkness. They bend together and whisper their secrets, but he can’t understand the words.

He shudders.


End file.
